


(you say it best) when you say nothing at all

by oopsabird



Category: DC Extended Universe, Wonder Woman (2017), Wonder Woman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Charlie doesn’t actually mind, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Implied/Referenced Racism, M/M, Men Crying, Nightmares, No Dialogue, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sameer makes a fuss, aka Charlie gets his ass kicked a bit, but like mild angst, mild whump, sober Charlie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2020-12-15 23:16:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21026360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oopsabird/pseuds/oopsabird
Summary: Sameer prides himself on knowing over two dozen languages (and counting) — yet somehow, he has never really needed any of them for him and Charlie to understand one another perfectly.





	(you say it best) when you say nothing at all

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve always found it really fascinating how, despite the fact that Sameer and Charlie barely speak directly to each other in the film, they still have such a clear, noticeable connection and relationship between the characters that comes through in the actions and the subtext. So, inspired by some headcanons from Elri, I decided to write a fic with no proper dialogue in it, to play around with that effect.
> 
> The title is from [When You Say Nothing At All](https://youtu.be/L8uD5mYnlLw) (as sung by Ronan Keating), my very favourite evergreen otp song since forever, because I’m a giant cheeseball of a person. It’s a very fitting song for these two morons!
> 
> Do yourself a favour and imagine Charlie with [a better haircut](https://m.imdb.com/name/nm0001971/mediaviewer/rm4200833024) than that stupid wig they gave him. Christ. I’ll fight the hair and makeup dept for that one.

Sometimes, they don’t need words.

They know each other better than anyone, are closer than brothers and thicker than thieves, joined together at the hip almost since they met to the point where it is sometimes hard to tell who is following who into trouble or the other way round. It is hard to imagine how they could be more different, and yet they understand each other perfectly, better than anybody else. Often, words just are not necessary, or not enough — when those moments come, they have found their own languages.

The war has been over for a month but Charlie still wakes up with a scream caught in his throat, feels the sharp edges of it choking him as he clutches the sheets with hands that so very violently shake and tries vainly to will himself back to being here, now, to chase the ghosts from his sober mind.

And Sameer comes running, racing from the next room without him even having to call out again, like a gift from the heavens he comes. Sami stumbles in with his curly hair all in disarray and his dressing gown hanging open over his pyjamas, and he is a master of words but none are necessary now, none could ever do the job when he sees the pain and fear in Charlie’s wide eyes.

Instead, he sits down on the edge of the bed and in one tender movement he gathers Charlie up in his strong steady arms, cradles him closely as the tension breaks and Charlie just starts to brokenly sob, too exhausted to protest. He shushes and he hums soft sounds and he strokes Charlie’s hair as Charlie just crushes his face into the collar of the dressing gown and weeps, until the white-knuckled grip slowly unwinds from the sheets and the raw sobs gradually turn to hiccups.

Sami keeps on holding him for as long as it takes for the world to settle down again and longer still after that, holding him safe until morning.

Some situations, there will never be the right words for, so they find other ways to speak.

Sameer returns home for the evening one night in January and doesn’t say a thing as he comes in, shutting the door a bit too hard on its hinges.

Looking up from his evening paper, Charlie only needs a glance to know from the tense set of those broad shoulders that the audition must have been a shitshow, another unfair and unjustified rejection brought on by the insidious prejudice that even Sami’s incredible talent can’t yet shake.

In the time it takes him to try desperately in silence to find any words to say that match the awfulness of the situation, Sameer hangs his hat and coat by the door with barely-contained vehement force, mutters something curt about going to bed, and then all but storms off down the hall, slamming that door behind him too.

Charlie cautiously opens it some minutes later, when his knock goes unanswered. He finds Sami sitting on the floor against the side of his bed with his knees pulled up to his chest, one hand pressed hard over his mouth and the other clenched in a fist on the colourful rug beside him. His shoulders are shaking and his eyes are squeezed shut tight in anguish and it couldn’t be more obvious he’s trying very very hard not to cry, not to make a sound.

Perhaps Charlie should leave him to his privacy, but he doesn’t — god, the very sight breaks his heart, how could he ever leave Sami in pain like this?

Instead, he crosses the room quietly, lowers himself down with a groan to sit on the floor by Sami’s side, leaning back against the bed. For just a moment, he hesitates, and then Sami — who still does not seem to have properly noticed his presence — makes some small pained noise in the back of his throat on the next shudder of his shoulders, and Charlie’s heart takes over from his head.

Sami’s white-knuckled hand still rests on the carpet between them, and Charlie reaches out to cover it with his own.

Sami freezes, instantly, and then his other hand slowly comes down from his face so he can turn his head and stare in shock at Charlie, red-rimmed brown eyes impossibly wide. He does not pull his hand away.

Charlie wants to speak, to say  _I’m sorry_ or  _You deserve better_ or  _It’s not fair_, but suddenly his own throat feels too constricted to do so, and Sameer already knows all those things anyway, so what good would speaking them out loud really do.

Instead he gently strokes his thumb over the side of Sami’s hand, swallows hard and nods steadily just once as if to say  _Yeah, I’m here_, holding Sami’s gaze.

In the next instant he is surprised to find himself with an armful of tweed and a face full of curls, as Sami swiftly turns to bury his face against Charlie’s nearest shoulder and cling to him like a drowning man. The shaking of Sami’s shoulders only increases in intensity as he finally starts to quietly cry, letting all that tightly held composure dissolve after holding on to it for what feels like years. No more disguises.

His free hand, the one not clinging tight to Charlie’s own, has fisted itself in the sweater fabric over Charlie’s heart, clutching it like he is never going to let go, like the grip is a lifeline. Charlie wordlessly rubs his back and wishes they really would never have to let go of each other, pressing his lips quietly to the top of Sami’s curly head and closing his eyes.

Some days, they use their actions to say what truly needs to be said, when their voices grow too anxious but the messages are too important to keep inside any longer.

It is March, and they are at a pub drinking tea and enjoying an evening outside of the apartment. The others are not here today, so there is no Etta or Diana to jump up and protect them when a drunk man recognizes Sameer from a scam job many months ago, and decides he wants to settle scores for being played the fool.

Sami is caught off guard by how swiftly the encounter escalates, deprived of a chance to properly react to the large meaty hand twisted tight in the shoulder of his jacket to haul him up from his chair and the foul breath growling in his face-

And then there’s a blur of orange and army green as Charlie launches himself at the man to land a bony-fisted solid punch square on his temple — the man staggers back and drops Sami.

He misses his chair and lands rather unceremoniously on the floor, looking up just in time to see for a brief second Charlie standing protectively over him, furious eyes blazing wild and teeth bared and fists at the ready-

Then the snarling much larger man recovers enough to deliver a dizzying rejoinder blow to Charlie’s jaw, sending Sami’s hapless roommate and rescuer flying sideways and backwards — Charlie bounces hard off the edge of the table and a chair before crumpling to the floor.

The bartender has the man thrown out before he can make any further moves towards halfwitted revenge, or be pummelled under a flurry of fists and French curses. By then Sami only halfway registers that it’s happened, as he is now fully occupied with kneeling by Charlie’s side and rolling him over onto his back with careful, anxious hands.

It’s a blessed relief, when Charlie turns out to be plenty conscious enough to curse hoarsely and groan in pain, squirming when Sami reaches under his jacket and checks his ribs for breaks which thankfully, don’t seem to be present (though that table edge will leave him with one hell of a bruise).

Sami winces along with every flinch, because his head won’t stop playing the memory of Charlie going down hard to hit the floor, over and over in a heartwrenching guilty loop — interrupted only briefly by the image of Charlie standing fiercely ready to protect him, stupid and brave and wonderful. That one wrenches his heart in a completely different way.

They stumble into a cab with Charlie hanging dazed off Sami’s shoulder, and it feels almost just like old times again, like the war. Except this time Charlie is sober, so he stays wide awake in the awkward silence the whole ride home, and tries to hide his winces at every bump instead of falling drunkenly asleep, staring out the window as it starts to rain.

Upon their return home, Sami insists on checking Charlie’s injuries, because he feels crushingly guilty and because he knows Charlie will lie about how bad it is. To that end they end up sitting on the edge of the bathtub under the best light in the tiny flat — Charlie grumbles and Sami plays doctor, rain pounding hard against the darkened little window above their heads.

Sami is down to his vest and has rolled up his shirtsleeves. Charlie sits without any shirt at all and clings to the rim of the tub with bruised slender fingers, hunching his skinny shoulders almost defensively against the slight draft from the window and his own self-conscious embarrassment.

Sameer prods at his face and bruised ribs gently to check that he hasn’t missed anything, muttering for Charlie to hold still, for him to stop squawking and squirming while Charlie protests for him to quit jabbin’ and pokin’. The protests die and he sighs softly in relief, when Sami presses a cool damp cloth to his inflamed aching cheek and holds it there — Charlie leans into the touch and closes his eyes, and Sami’s heart aches.

It was foolish, Sami mutters almost absentmindedly after a moment, for him to get himself hurt like that.

Charlie’s eyes fly open instantly, as his expression turns indignant and protests snap from his lips about looking out for Sami, keepin’ him safe.

Sami’s own pride flares and he argues back instantly, dropping the cloth to cross his arms and declaring haughtily that he would have been fine — another moment and he would have recovered from his shock enough to send the man flying. He _knows_ how to handle a fight.

Charlie scoffs on instinct, Sami takes marked offence and Charlie quickly backpedals, apologetic and flustered. The tension of their argument ratchets up from bantering to genuine as Sami declares exasperatedly that he doesn’t even understand why Charlie would do something so foolish, why Charlie tries so stupidly hard to protect him when _he’s_ not the one who always needs-

And then Charlie’s hand is grabbing the front of his vest and yanking him forward with surprising strength and-

Bravely, Charlie is kissing him.

Sami stiffens sharply in sheer surprise, eyes wide and brows shooting up so high they nearly disappear into his hairline. _Charlie is kissing him._

With a physical reaction like that, it’s no wonder when Charlie pulls back an instant later the Scot looks utterly terrified at the sight. This is why he did it, Sami realizes then, the fight at the bar — because Charlie loves him, and Charlie is afraid of losing him, too. But those aren’t words he can easily say.

Charlie’s eyes are the size of saucers, and his hands shake as he tries fumblingly to extricate his grip on Sami’s shirt — incoherently scrambling for an apology he can’t quite manage to stutter out, petrified.

The pounding rain fills the anxious quiet, beating against the window frame almost as hard and fast as both their hearts.

Luckily Sameer is no stranger to comforting Charlie’s fear. After years of holding back his heart, it suddenly feels like easiest thing in the world to reach out and gently cradle the nape of Charlie’s neck with one hand.

He watches those wild eyes go still and tense, watching him in return — and instead of speaking, pulls Charlie forward gently into a softer kiss.

All remaining nervousness dissolves as Charlie simply melts into it — grabbing Sami’s other hand to hold and sinking with a sigh into his loving touch, blessedly relieved.

There will be conversations, later, apologies and promises and confessions and tentatively whispered hopeful plans, but that is for the future.

Right now, there are no words, and this is all they need.

**Author's Note:**

> For those of you playing along at home, I regret to announce that the WIP list has not gotten any shorter — this was a new idea which was conceived and executed in less that 12 hours, not a WIP. But if I ever get through my 100-or-so drafts of SamiCharlie fics, it’s over for all you hoes!
> 
> I am on tumblr, shouting about everything and anything, @oopsabird, and getting messages about my fics or these characters does in fact make my day, so come on by if you want an earful!


End file.
